


Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs

by kittiehawke



Category: PAYDAY (Video Games)
Genre: Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-18
Updated: 2016-11-08
Packaged: 2018-08-23 05:23:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8315548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittiehawke/pseuds/kittiehawke
Summary: Loosely connected Wolf/Jacket writings.





	1. Chapter 1

Wolf and Jacket were slouched together on the couch, two movies and half a bottle of whiskey into the night. The safehouse around them was quiet. Dallas had essentially grounded the two of them ever since the Commissar's job. They’d worked well together. Perhaps too well. Dallas liked to believe they were professionals, gentlemen thieves that didn’t need to beat a man half to death with fists and hammers. It was a nice thought. 

Since that job, they’d been spending the evenings at the safe house, going through movie after movie on the small, ratty couch in Jacket’s room. The third night, Wolf had shown up with an armful of silent movies and Jacket had responded with a choking sounds that was the strange man’s approximation of a laugh. He’d flipped through his recorder a few times before finally grabbing a notepad and scrawling, “you like the silent ones?” while giving Wolf a bemused look.

The nights had taken on an edge after that, the couch seeming to get smaller, their bodies slouching against each other. Hands brushing as they shifted and got comfortable. Nothing more than two slightly drunk guys on a couch that just wasn’t quite big enough for the two of them. A warm hand wrapped around his, gently tugging the bottle away so that the other man could take a pull of the whiskey. 

“Did you know Abraham Maslow defined the four basic need as food, water, sleep and sex.” the chirpy voice recited from the recorder.

Wolf froze, turning the question over in his mind before asking, “So, you want to order a pizza?”

Jacket was staring at him, a strangely intent look in his eyes. The flickering red neon light on the harsh planes of his face. A soft sigh huffed out of him, the quiet click and whirr of the his tape recorder seemed overly loud in the sudden silence. Jacket’s other hand slipped from the cushion to cup Wolf’s thigh and squeeze as the chirpy female voice from the tape said, “No.”

Wolf turned his head to meet jacket’s eyes, “You’re sure about this?”

The recorder hit the carpet with a soft thud as Jacket caught the collar of Wolf’s shirt and pulled him into a kiss. It was rough and sloppy, the sharp tang of whiskey on his breath.

This was probably a terrible idea. But Wolf found himself unable to give a damn. Half the crew seemed a bit scared of him, eyeing him sideways after another one of his slips. Hell, even Hox had suggested he needed some therapy after that incident with the dozer and the drill. Jacket had just listened to the story with a grave expression and the faint hint of a smile at the end. He'd scrawled a note asking where the drill was now and seemed a bit disappointed it had been left behind. It was fucked up, but at least he seemed to understand that need.

It was another need driving him now, after a week of them being so close but not actually touching. Skirting around the edge of this attraction, never making a move that couldn't be explained as just getting comfortable. It was a relief to finally just drop the pretense, hands pulling Jacket in his lap. He wanted this, this closeness. Skin to skin. Nothing between them. 

Wolf slipped a hand under Jacket's shirt, his fingers brushing over the faint hint of scars. He had his share of them as well, holes torn by shrapnel and the occasional bullet that had to be removed afterwards. No one came through this work without their fair share of stories of near misses and injuries to match. Jacket's skin was hot beneath his hands. He sharply nipped at his lower lip. Jacket's strangled gasp against Wolf's lips fed into his lust, he wanted to see what other noises he could coax from the usually mute man. He dragged his nails down Jacket’s chest, feeling the other man arch up against him.

“‘Ey Jacket! I think I left my-” Sydney burst into the room without knocking. She froze when she caught the two men dry humping on the couch. “Oh.” For once she seemed to be caught without a quick retort. Wolf shot her an irritated look as Jacket snorted a helpless laugh against his lips. Sydney turned around and bolted out of the room, leaving the door hanging open in her wake.


	2. Working Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing like an interrogation to bring two people together.

There were a lot of great things about punching a man to death. Nothing quite felt like the satisfying crunch of cartilage as you broke a nose. The tensing of muscles as you lined up, every muscle falling into place. The smooth uncoiling, flow of power as you released. The rebound and reverberation when you made contact. That feedback, the interplay of forces back on your body. No action without and equal and opposite reaction. Physics that you couldn't quite escape. 

It was cathartic and sometimes it was the only way to bleed out the static that filled his head. The sound and fuzz that occasionally overwhelmed his senses. It left him feeling disconnection and the only way to get back was something entirely physical and impossible to ignore. The pounding of flesh against flesh, it grounded him. Brought him back in control. 

It wasn't healthy. Fuck, he knew that. There was no way he believed this was fine. But it was what he had. Better to be in this job and beating the shit out of people that deserved it. Usually. 

It wasn't like before, when he had to stay buttoned up and in line. Play the game. Smile the smile. Walk the walk. Pour every ounce of energy into something and then watch it die. Now things only died when he wanted them to.

It left his hands a wreck. Nothing without an equal and opposite reaction, right? You couldn't knock someone's teeth out without getting a bit battered yourself. His rubber gloves were a wreck, torn and shredded, barely remaining on his hands. The light cotton gloves he wore beneath them were soaked in a mix of blood, sweat and saliva. Most of it wasn't his. 

He could hear the ring of a baseball bat, tapping slowly against the floor. It seemed to resonate louder than it should against the concrete. He could feel the energy bleeding out of him, the hollow feeling after the high. What goes up must come down. Unless you’re Jimmy, who seemed immune to the usual laws of physics and biology.

He could feel Jacket coming up behind him, see the reaction of the mobster to the new threat approaching. He could step back now, give his partner some time to work. He could relax. 

His fists were clenched, unwilling to uncurl as he stepped back. The mobster was still spitting blood and the occasional tooth, but his tone was still defiant. His one eye was bugged out, wide with fear and anger. The other was swollen shut with bruises. 

The floor beneath him felt like it was shifting as he shuffled backwards, arms still up and curled in a defensive stance. He needed to sit down. Needed more air.

“Nol Not him!” the mobster protested weakly. Perhaps he was starting to break. Perhaps it was just too late. It might just be easier to finish this one, let his body act as a warning for the other. They had another mobster folded into the trunk of the delorean, parked in a nearby bay. It wasn't the most subtle vehicle to travel around in, way too many people wanted to stop and ask about the flux capacitor. But Wolf still got a goofy thrill in his stomach every time he opened the gull-wing doors. He stumbled slightly as he backed into one of the crates lining the warehouse.

Jacket’s head turned towards him, expression unreadable underneath the chicken mask. He cocked his head to the side, huge black expressionless eyes fixated on Wolf. His baseball bat tapped lightly on the leg of the chair.

“This isn’t going anywhere. We can get answers out of the other one.” Wolf said as he settled onto a crate, giving Jacket room to work. He tried to shake the tension out of his arms. His knuckles stung as he flexed his hands, droplets of moisture hitting the ground. The tension was starting to bleed out slowly. 

Jacket gave him a nod and lined up a swing, indifferent to the pleading mobster. It was a surreal sight, with the large beak and wobbling comb. Hard to take a man seriously with that mask, but that was only until you’d seen him in action. In action, he was ruthlessly efficient. He wound up for a swing and let loose. The smooth arc of the bat through the air, the shift of weight from one foot to another, it was graceful and deadly. The muffled crunch of bones was lost in the last desperate yell from the mobster. It was over.

Jacket stepped back and dropped the bat. The clatter against the concrete floor startling Wolf out of his reverie. He flinched back and realized Jacket had been watching him. No chance that he’d missed the way Wolf’s hands had been shaking. The adrenaline high had faded, leaving him feeling bruised and faded.

There was a quick flick of knife as Jacket sliced the mobster’s bonds and knocked him out of the chair. The legs shrieked as he dragged the chair to rest next to Wolf. He gave a noise of concern as he pulled Wolf’s mask off and began to check him for injuries. 

The click and whirr of the recorder chirped, “Canine predator, stay.” 

“Don’t worry,” Wolf snorted a laugh, “I’m not going anywhere.” 

Jacket’s callused hands were running over his skin. Checking his head, running down the bridge of his nose, flicking behind his ears, pausing at his neck to check his pulse. It should have been brusque and impersonal, like when Chains was doing a post-job check-up. But Wolf couldn’t help but focus on the the warmth of Jacket’s skin against his, not buffered by the gloves the rest of the crew wore. 

“Can you ditch the mask? It’s weird getting first aid from a chicken.” Wolf tried to bat at the beak, but Jacket caught his wrist before he could reach it. They froze for a moment, waiting the other out, breathing loud in the empty room. After a long silence, the energy diffused and Jacket gave a warning squeeze before dropping Wolf’s wrist. He busied himself unfolding the doctor’s kit he’d been carrying, placing it on the chair beside Wolf. He tugged off the mask, face sweaty and flushed from exertion. 

“Please remain quiet and your survival is assured.” The recorder chirped at Wolf, who hadn’t moved since released from Jacket’s grip. 

Jacket tugged at the shredded remains Wolf’s gloves. He wrinkled his nose as he tossed them behind him to land on the cooling body. The thin cotton gloves underneath were peeled off slowly, soaked and sticking to his skin. Wolf hissed between his teeth at the burn as flesh and cloth separated. Fresh blood welled in the cuts. Pains that he hadn’t noticed in the heat of the moment suddenly clamoured for his attention. 

Jacket pulled out gauze and a bottle of alcohol. He cupped one of Wolf’s hands in his own, holding it in place firmly as he began to dab with an alcohol soaked swab.   
The sting of antiseptic seemed to ground Wolf and gave him something to focus on. The tremble in his muscles faded as they were held in Jacket’s grip. The alcohol burned, but he tried to focus on the sharp sensation. Anything to keep from thinking about how nice it felt to just relax his hand in anothers. 

After everything was clean, Jacket gave his hand a squeeze before starting to bind up the wounds. He wrapped his gauze around Wolf’s hands, covering the split skin and padding the knuckles. Wolf grinned and held his hands up, inspecting the work. He nodded towards Jacket’s tape-bound hands and said, “We match now.”

Jacket rolled his eyes and pulled a sharpie from his pocket. ‘Wrap first, then punch.’ he scrawled on an empty wrapper before dropping it in Wolf’s lap. He began packing away the doctor’s bag, pausing to hand over a fresh set of gloves.

Wolf’s fingers lingered on Jacket’s as he took the gloves and asked, “You gonna teach me how?”


End file.
